


and never for a second blame yourself

by BUTTERYCUPS



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Sad Calum, Suicidal Thoughts, a little fluff at the end, luke and ashton are like mentioned once or twice so, malum, oh that's a tag, that's sad, there's a couple of panic attack mentions, this could be a little triggering be careful!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BUTTERYCUPS/pseuds/BUTTERYCUPS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Calum hates himself, but Michael doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and never for a second blame yourself

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! so this is my first work on archiveofourown so i'm not entirely sure how this works?? anyways, comment, like, all that good stuff, yeah?  
> also!! title is from missing you by all time low even though the fic is based off of medicine by daughter??? yeah??? i'm the worst

“I hate myself.”  

It’s quiet when Calum whispers that. The kind of quiet that’s supposed to accompany 3:19 A.M. on a Wednesday. Michael knows those words weren’t meant for him to hear. They were an afterthought, and accompaniment to the melancholy that ate away at Calum during the dark of the night. Michael should be sleeping, but he doesn’t care. Calum needs him, so he forces his eyes open and snuggles into Calum’s backside.

Calum’s always been the stronger one of the two. While Michael has always been more open about his emotions, the younger of the two has walls built so high it’s a complete wonder how Michael managed to climb them. But Michael understands why his walls are so high. He understands that Calum has a damaged heart, that too many people have let their filthy hands handle it and then torn it apart. Michael understands that Calum’s brain is tainted by darkness, that he’s not as happy as he likes to let on. But Calum is strong. He doesn’t let it show. He’s there for everyone else’s bullshit, but he refuses to let anyone know about his own troubles.

Today is different, though, and neither of them know why. Calum doesn’t know what’s triggered this sudden outbreak of emotions, but it refuses to go away. Throughout their decade long friendship, there’s only been a handful of times where Michael’s witnessed Calum completely break down. Normally, Calum just lays in bed alone, letting his more depressive thoughts get the best of him. But it’s different tonight. He lets himself lay in Michael’s arms, lets the older boy listen to his occasional soft, mumbled antagonization of himself.  

All Michael can hear are Calum’s sniffles and soft pants. He doesn’t mind; he knows how Calum gets. He’s become familiar with the way Calum clutches his arms when he feels like he has nothing else to hold onto. And it’s okay. It’s been okay since they were fifteen and Michael was witnessing his best friend having a panic attack for the first time in his life. He still remembers holding his hand and crying because he was so worried.

And now here he is: nineteen and trying to keep everything together for the boy he loves.

Truth be told, if it weren’t for Calum, Michael wouldn’t be able to hold himself together. He only does so because he knows Calum needs him. He needs him to be stronger. He doesn’t need to be told he’s beautiful; he doesn’t need his scars kissed. What he needs is for Michael to be there, to hold him as he tries to make sense of the broken pieces of his soul. He feels like he’s drowning. He’s suffocating. It had been bad before, when they were kids fucking around with guitars in Michael’s room. But with cameras in their faces and girls idolizing them, it’s worse. Calum feels like he can’t do anything without completely fucking up, and now he has a million people pointing out his mistakes.

Calum knows it’s getting worse by the day. He feels himself slowly deteriorating. The bags under his eyes have gotten far too noticeable, and he’s began to feel a gravitational pull towards alcohol whenever he’s within thirty meters of it. It’s not healthy, Michael’s reminded him of that enough.  _“Alcohol is a depressant, and considering you’ve got anxiety and clinical depression, I don’t think it’d be good for you,”_ Michael had bullshitted him with a beer in his tiny fucking baby hand.

Michael already rides his ass for always fighting against taking his medication, but Calum always retorts with his “perfectly logical explanation” as to why he tries avoiding his prescribed anti-depressants. But despite his arguments that the medicine makes him feel like he’s not himself, he takes it so Michael feels good about himself for “helping.” Even if he does feel his brain disintegrating, he puts up with it. 

The thing is, Calum knows that Michael’s just doing his best to help, and he knows he needs the help. But he hates the way he gets treated whenever he lets someone knows about his conditions. Ashton treats him like a child who needs to be constantly taken care of, and Luke acts so cautious it’s almost like he believes that being around Calum is like walking through a field of land-mines. He doesn’t need that from his best friend, Michael. He can’t handle another person giving him special treatment because he’s depressed and anxious and overwhelmingly suicidal.

And Michael’s aware. Aware of the scars on Calum’s wrist underneath his abundance of bracelets, and the silent tears that often find their way down Calum’s cheeks when it’s too late in the night to talk to anyone. But Michael’s still in love with him. Always has been, always will be. He doubts it will ever change.

“I think you’re doing pretty swell,” Michael whispers, before mentally slapping himself. Swell? Way to woo a guy, Michael. No one likes guys who use the word swell.

He hears a sharp, sarcastic laugh echo through the quiet hotel room before Calum is turning over in his arms. He’s a mess, really. His hair’s a tousled mess, the blonde bits contrasting against the dark strands of hair. His cheeks are pink, more so than usual, and streaked with tears. And his eyes– God, his eyes. Even in the darkest of nights, Michael can see the stars in Calum’s eyes. Even if he doesn’t see them himself. But Michael will do it– he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to convince Calum that the brightest of stars were plucked out of the galaxy and placed in his eyes.

He keeps it to himself. Knows it doesn’t fit into their very “no homo” relationship.

“I’m the fuckin’ worst,” Calum swears, his eyes shutting tight and his jaw clenching. “Worst bassist, worst singer, worst in the band, worst in the entire world. You’ve heard what they say about me. I’m a useless piece of shit. Fuckin’ waist of space. They all hate me–“

“So fuck ‘em,” Michael interrupts, so desperate to pull Calum out of the sea of sadness he sees him drowning in too often. “Fuck what they say. Who cares? They–“

“I care,” Calum breathes out, and Michael pouts.

“Cal,” he whispers, and Calum flutters open his eyes. Michael is fucking weak for him. “Don’t.”

“Like it’s that fucking easy, right?” He laughs bitterly. The younger boy escapes from Michael’s embrace to sit up and move further away. Michael frowns at this. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could never stay away from Calum for too long.

“That’s not what I meant,” Michael huffs out as he sits up and moves closer toward his best friend. 

“No one gets it,” he says, pushing his hair back. “I”m a fucking mess, Mikey. I’m so scared and sad but I can’t say it. I can’t say it because everyone thinks I’m so laid-back and they think I have it all together, but  _fuck._ I’m fucking dying. I feel like I’m dying. I– I think I want to. Just get it over with, right? I’m gonna die one day. We all are. Might as well speed up the process and get it done while I’m young and pretty. ’S not like anyone would care, right?”

Michael doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t an indie film created for girls age thirteen to twenty-two. This is real life and his best friend, the love of his life, doesn’t want to live anymore. He can’t kiss away the pain. He knows that if he were to kiss him now, it would make things more complicated. He knows the pain won’t go away that easily. He knows that the battle in Calum’s mind has been going on for longer than he can remember. There’s sadness enveloping his heart, and the depression has taken such a firm grip on Calum’s brain. And it’s painful to watch. It’s obvious that Calum’s suffering, but he’s grown so accustomed to the feeling of misery that he refuses to voice his feelings. Michael just wants to make him happy. He’d do anything to make him happy. He just wishes there were some way to make him see himself the way Michael sees him.

“Calum,” Michael says, and he’s almost rendered speechless when Calum turns to him, puffy, red eyes almost pleading for help. “Please– Please don’t say that.” It’s not until then when Michael realizes that he’s crying, reaching out for Calum’s hand. “I don’t– I can’t be without you. Tell me– Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I want to help. I don’t– don’t want you to feel this way.”

Calum starts crying violently, like some wretched thing has just pulled a sob out from him. His shoulders are shaking and he’s thankful when Michael pulls him into his chest, the older boy’s smaller hands stroking his hair to pull him back to Earth. He needs it. He needs Michael. He needs his best friend there, because no one else could compare to the way Michael saves him. It’s been this way for years, and Calum wouldn’t have it any other way. So much had changed since that first night when he was fifteen and finally realizing that, hey, he might sorta be attracted to guys. It’s a completely different feeling now.

He’s not fifteen and freaking out about his sexuality. He had come to terms with that a while ago. No, now, he’s nineteen and depressed because he hates himself and he can’t fight the hollowness that’s made its home inside of his chest. He wants to rid himself of the demons taken root in his brain, but he doesn’t know how. He’s been trying his hardest to fight them off on his own, but it’s not enough. Just a small part of him believes that he can solve this, all of this, with a bottle full of pills or a leap off a tall building or a jump in front of a car.

He hates himself for feeling such a way, he really does. He hates that he has to drag Michael down with him. The two have been attached to the hip since they were young. From ruling the playground to taking on the world, Michael has been there. And now, at three in the morning, Calum is forcing Michael into dealing with his shitty anguish. Michael deserves a better best friend, and Calum’s well aware of it. He’s never been able to comprehend why, after all these years, Michael hasn’t left him for someone better. There’s clearly a million other people better than him, yet, despite his knowledge of all of Calum’s baggage, he stays. 

Calum’s glad he stays.

Michael lays him back down, soft hands running over Calum’s tan, inked skin as the raven haired boy’s crying comes to a halt. After the tears have slowly dried, all that’s left is the sound of Calum’s breathing. It’s heartbreaking, really, watching the love of his life in such pain. 

Calum lays there, pensive in Michael’s arms. He knows people often tell him they want to help, but it’s Michael. He can’t brush it off with a, “Haha, sure,” and continue to wallow in his own sadness without ever mentioning his feelings again, cause Michael will know. Michael has a habit of reading Calum better than Calum can read himself. He’d know if something was wrong. But truthfully, Calum doesn’t know what to do. He hates the unknown more than anything else, and the fact that he doesn’t even know how to fix himself pisses him off to no extent.

“I don’t– I don’t know what to do, Mikey,” Calum admits. And Michael must admit, it’s absolutely terrifying to him, too. Calum deserves happiness more than anyone Michael’s ever met, and it doesn’t make sense that he’s quite possibly the saddest person Michael’s ever met. All he wants to do is shake his fist at the sky and curse any and every god out there for doing this to the boy who means more to him than life itself.

“That’s– That’s okay. We’ll figure it out, yeah?” he reassures him, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his neck. “You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here. I’m always gonna be here.”

“I’m scared,” he confessed, his eyes shut tight. “I don’t like who I am anymore, Mikey. I hate who I’ve become and I hate that I’m making you put up with me.”

“I like who you are,” Michael states, before deciding it isn’t enough. “You can– You can still be the person you always said you wanted to be. It’s your life, Cal-Pal. You can beat this. You can still be the guy you said you wanted to be when we were growing up. All of this– This sadness, this depression, doesn’t define you. You can make depression your bitch. You’re– You’re fucking amazing. And I believe in you. I don’t– I don’t ‘put up’ with you. I want you in my life, and I want you to be happy. You know I’d pick you over anyone else when it comes to anything, right? Except maybe, like, FIFA. You’re a dick when it comes to FIFA."

Calum lets out a laugh, but he doesn’t know how to explain how much that means to him. He can’t verbalize, nor can he comprehend, what Michael’s words do to him. He’s spent the past six years attempting to force too many people out. He’s spent too long getting intoxicated and trying to distract himself from the pain in his own heart by messing around with the hearts of too many innocent people, none of whom wanted anything to do with the storms raging on his mind. It’s an offer of help, not the first one Calum’s received, but one of the only ones that’s ever mattered. From anyone else, Calum would decline. But not for Michael. He knows in his heart he’d go to the end of the Earth for Michael. He’s good for him, he thinks.  Michael’s always been good for him.

Michael doesn’t want to kiss Calum anymore. He wants to hold Calum’s heart in his hands and help him sew the pieces back together. He wants him to be happy. He doesn’t need Calum to love him back; he just needs him to be okay. But he can’t say that out loud. He doesn’t know how to. So instead, he lets his arms wrap around him and lets their legs tangle together. His lips drag over Calum’s shoulder, pressing light feathery kisses to the soft skin between mumbles of, “You’re my best friend, Cal,” and, “You’re my sunshine, I need you here with me.”

They’re both half asleep when Michael whispers, “Please don’t leave me,” into the crook of his neck. Calum feels safe.

He whispers back, “I’d never leave you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise."

It’s not an "I love you,” but they both decide that it’s even better.


End file.
